


Things Owed - Hathor

by Akamaimom



Series: Things Owed [3]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, F/M, Humor, Romance, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-04-19 12:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4747079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akamaimom/pseuds/Akamaimom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the "Things Owed" series. A group of one-shot episode tags. Jack and Sam have sacrificed a lot for each other over the years. Neither of them like the idea of being in debt to the other. Sam/Jack Ship.</p><p>I'm regrouping these into a series rather than a story with chapters, since they each read as "complete" even though they are inter-related stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Owed - Hathor

Things Owed

Hathor

 

If there were a ledger involved in this, he'd be WAY in the red. 

He owed Carter big this time. Bounced check-like. Mortgage-like. No--National Debt-like-"owed her". 

It'd take far more than that lame hockey thing to pay back the favor this time.

Jack leaned back in his chair, stretching in an awkward yawn before scrubbing at his face with a splayed hand. Hours. It had been hours that he'd been sitting here, on his butt, watching the footage.

The intensely uncomfortable footage.

The horrendously awful footage.

The most terrible footage of all footage ever taken by security cameras ever in the history of humanity. Ever.

Or, at least in the history of the SGC.

And there were hours of it. Hours and hours and hours. The videotapes on Jack's desk were stacked like his own private Monument Valley, piled in awkward towers like the legendary Southwestern sandstone buttes. Unwatched videos piled up on his left, and labeled, annotated cassettes piled high on his right. He'd been tasked with going over the more sensitive tapes, gathering what information he could from the videos. So, he'd been logging activities and times, possible breaches of protocol and security, and indicating the parties involved in said breaches for the better part of two days, and there was no end in sight. If there was a worse job at the SGC, he honestly couldn't think what it could be.

Because the tapes were disgusting on one end and disturbing on the other, and quite likely to quell any future thoughts that he might ever have of dating again. 

Now that he knew who -- or what -- was out there. 

The thought was enough to make him lose his lunch, if he'd eaten lunch in the first place. But he'd started off this morning with some footage taken in the locker room on the last day of the----what would you call it----siege? Take-over? Infestation? He'd watched the snake-queen as she'd lowered herself into the hot water, laying back against the back of the tub for a moment before submerging completely. And then she'd----what----spawned? Even in black and white, the undulating water had darkened as the larval Goa'ulds had started popping up to the surface and thrashing around. Cringing, Jack had turned a little green watching as Hathor had emerged from the Jacuzzi----mostly because he knew that, outside of the camera view, his own lifeless self was hanging out next to the tub, all pouched up and ready for a larva of his own. The bagel he'd had for breakfast had tickled his tonsils for the rest of the morning. He'd had to go back to hallway tapes, logging random passers-by, completely innocuous and not spew-inducing, just to allow his gut time to adjust.

So it was wisdom on his part to soldier through the footage rather than to stop to eat. Even so, when he'd arrived at the film-captures from the guest quarters, he'd dry-heaved his way through watching Daniel do the nasty with their new "friend". The camera angle in the guest quarters had been ideal, in a sick kind of a way. The view, freakishly perfect. Ultimately, feeling like the biggest of wusses, O'Neill had ended up covering his eyes with both hands and humming during the more pertinent bits, even though there wasn't audio with the video. He'd peeked through the slit between his fingers only long enough to see exactly how the lamp had gotten knocked over. 

There were just some things that, once seen, couldn't be un-seen. He needed some brain bleach. Or a lobotomy. Or something. Because that was just----well, words failed.

One thing was certain, though: Jack would never-----EVER----be able to look at Daniel from behind again. 

The tape currently in the VCR clicked to an end, and Jack pressed the 'eject' button with the pad of his thumb. He'd already filled out adhesive labels with the camera number and the pre-determined code number for the tape, and it just took a moment to attach the stickers to the cassette. Then he ripped the yellow lined paper on which he'd been taking notes off the pad and wrapped it around the tape, securing it with a thick rubber band. 

Picking up the next tape, he glanced at the temporary tag on it, jotting down its identification code on his legal pad before inserting the black plastic box into the VCR. He instantly recognized the room. Even in black and white, the flags in the General's office were unmistakeable, and Hammond's neat desk gleamed. Movement at the top of the screen drew O'Neill's attention, and he watched as Hathor and an airman entered the room. Jack quickly noted the time and then glanced back up to identify the soldier; a task made more difficult because the angle of the camera cut off everything above the man's neck. There was some talking, and then the Goa'uld moved in towards the unlucky sod, her fingers making short work of the buttons on his shirt. 

Oh, crap. 

The Colonel's hand shot out and whacked the "pause" button. On the screen, the grainy video hovered over a single image----Hathor's hands, pushing back the edges of the airman's shirt. Jack shut his eyes, then cracked them open again, peering through his own revulsion at the picture flickering back at him. 

Oh, holy crap. 

He recognized that shirt. That chest. That moment.

It had been his own last breath of near-lucidity. The final minutes just before Hathor's hypno-drug had overcome him completely. And he could still feel it----the lust-terror he'd felt as she'd caressed his body and then removed her bustier to reveal the device she wore underneath. Jack recalled trying to remember that he didn't want what she was offering, trying to push away from Her Highness and doing something----anything----other than stand there and allow her to do what she'd done. But even through the pain and the horrifying disgust he'd felt, the drugged portion of his muddled brain had believed her words.

"You will come to enjoy the long life and health you will receive from being Hathor's first new Jaffa."

Pushing away from the desk, Jack shot to his feet, whirling away from the screen and its galling reminders. Behind him, innocuous Air Force posters adorned the cement walls, taunting him with their kitschy recruiting slogans. With a sick grunt, O'Neill cast an accusatory glare at the framed art----at no time had any recruiter ever told him he'd be felt up by a 4,000 year old alien with a god complex, nor that he was in danger of being made into a human incubator.

If he'd been properly informed, he may have rethought his career choices.

He braced one hand on his waist, clamping the other hand over his eyes and willing his body to compose itself. Concentrating on deep breathing, Jack forced his hands not to whip open his shirt just to check----to make certain for the ump-teenth time----that his abdomen no longer resembled that of a marsupial. 

The slight squeak to his left startled him, and he jumped to one side, whirling instinctively to face the new danger. 

"Jack?"

A familiar voice came from the doorway. O'Neill breathed out a sigh of relief. "You could knock, you know."

"I, uh----" Daniel peered around the office door, his fingers thumping on the edge in a brief tattoo. "I did, actually. You didn't answer."

"You did?"

Nodding, Daniel moved the rest of his body around the door. "And you didn't answer."

Jack threw a hand towards the apparatus on the desk at the other side of the office. "I was kind of occupied."

The lenses of Jackson's glasses caught at the light emanating from the screen as his gaze flickered towards the TV and then back to Jack. "Are you still watching those security videos?"

"Apparently so."

"Why?" Daniel folded his arms across his chest.

"Because I've got a pile over there that would fill the Grand Canyon. I take it that you didn't have as many?"

"Wow." Brows rising, the archaeologist shook his head a little. "I only had a dozen or so. Sam was asked to help run DNA samples with Dr. Frasier, and so Teal'c took hers to review. But he only had a few more than I did. I wonder why you have so many of them."

"Because God hates me, that's why."

"Which one? The traditional one or the red-haired one with the glowing eyes?"

Jack glared at his teammate. "Take your pick, 'Our Beloved'."

"Ouch. But it's okay----I expected this. Tease away. I know I'm not going to live this one down anytime soon." 

"Or----ever." Banter. This would help. Jack shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "After all, you were the first to fall."

"True." Looking down at his arm, Daniel busied himself fixing a sleeve that had come unfolded. "But you were her first Jaffa."

Jack's stomach lurched again, but he tamped down his reaction and feigned disinterest. "At least I didn't sleep with her."

"Contributed the code." Daniel looked up from his sleeves. "I merely contributed DNA."

O'Neill's lip twitched, then he snapped his fingers in his friend's direction in a faux 'aha!' moment. "So that's what the kids are calling it these days."

Daniel snorted. "Sad thing is, that's the first action I've gotten in ages, and I don't even remember it. Although--that's probably a good thing, right?

"Well, if you're interested, I've got it all on tape."

Behind his lenses, Daniel's eyes flew wide. "You mean, it got recorded?"

"The whole shebang." Jack tilted his head towards the desk, his lips thinning in a quasi-smile. "So to speak."

"The entire----um----episode?" His voice cracking slightly, Dr. Jackson grimaced. "All of it?"

"Yes, Daniel." Nodding, O'Neill rocked forwards on the toes of his boots. "Start to finish. Beginning to end. First kiss to afterglow."

"Good grief." Daniel scrubbed at his cheek with the palm of his hand. "That's really----um----disturbing."

"Yes. Yes it was."

"And you watched it all?"

"Even better. I took notes."

"Oh, for the love of Pete." Turning to fully face the desk, Daniel glared at the piles of tapes there. "Any chance we could accidentally-on-purpose destroy the cassette?"

"Not a chance, Beloved." Moving around Daniel, Jack stopped just behind his chair, resting his forearm on the back. "That puppy's going to the archives."

"So, it's preserved forever."

"Shouldn't you be happy about that? I mean----you're the history buff and all."

"Yeah. Funny thing about that. Most times, it's not necessarily my history that I'm interested in preserving."

"Tough break."

"Oh well. I supposed it's part of our story, right?" A wry smile played around the corners of Daniel's mouth. He moved closer to the desk, reaching out and snagging one of tapes that Jack had finished watching. Folding back the paper, he scanned what he could see of it. "'First contact'? What's that mean?"

"Hathor's appearance at the security checkpoint. Her first contact with the SGC." O'Neill absently scratched at the back of his neck. "I fast forwarded through most of that one."

"Couldn't you do that with a lot of them? I mean----most of what happened was confined to a few rooms on the base, right?"

"I wish." Jack snorted, taking the video from Daniel and placing it back on the tower he'd created. "She pretty much drugged everyone except for the women and Teal'c. There were airmen pulling all sorts of stunts all over this place. A crew of non-coms had amassed a stockpile of weapons and explosives in one of the MALP bays. The topside crew was working with the motor pool to weaponize all the Hum-Vees, and the MPs had formed security patrols that were preparing to go in search of more foot soldiers in the surrounding communities, among other plans."

"Did Sam and Dr. Frasier really seduce their way out of lock-up?"

O'Neill hadn't reviewed those tapes, but he'd heard about the incident. Nodding, he passed a knowing look towards his friend. They'd both seen their teammate take down the Genghis Khan guy, a sight that Jack would mentally cherish for years to come. "From what I heard, those guys will have pounding heads for a week."

Daniel chortled, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "So to speak."

Despite himself, Jack grinned. "Potty humor. I'm impressed, Dr. Jackson."

"Hey. I might be a high-faluting scientist, but I'm still a guy." Daniel shrugged, still smiling.

"Yes." Jack nodded once. Emphatically. "So I have witnessed."

His smile dimming somewhat, Daniel reached out and grabbed a random tape from the top of one of the multitudinous stacks on O'Neill's desk. "Anyhow. We all should give credit where credit is due. Sam and Janet deserve the commendations that they're being nominated for. Without them, this base would be some sort of a Goa'uld hive by now. I can't imagine what would have happened if Sam hadn't kept her head on her shoulders."

Nodding in mock-seriousness, Jack offered an overzealous frown. "You'd have half-Daniel Goa'uldlets implanted in all sorts of people by now."

"Ugh." Daniel tapped absently on he tape he held, then shook his head and leaned a hip on the edge of the desk. "Sam and Janet deserve more than just the commendations. They truly did save the world."

"You're telling me." Jack folded his arms on the back of the chair, bending over until he was resting his chin on his forearm. "At this rate, I'm going to owe her forever."

"Owe her?"

O'Neill looked up at Daniel, meeting his gaze fully. "Hasn't she told you?"

"Told me what?"

Pausing, Jack frowned, contemplating the meaning of that. 

He'd been endeavoring not to think about her much since the evening on the soccer pitch, recognizing that whatever it was that drew him to Sam Carter couldn't possibly end well. So, he'd been trying to detach lately, attempting to treat her like anyone else that he dealt with on a daily basis. Like she held no more fascination to him than Siler, or that little dude that called out the dialing chevrons, or hell----even the guy who saved him the corner piece of cake every day in the Mess. He'd barked his orders at her and he'd ignored her opinions just as he tried to ignore Daniel's. If she'd noticed, she hadn't said anything. 

Except for the wounded, confused look she'd given him when he'd sided with General Hammond over the whole Hathor guard thing. He'd thought about that a lot in the past few days, initially blaming his actions on whatever substance that the Goa'uld had used to control his mind. If truth be told, however, he hadn't been so far gone that he'd actually agreed with Hammond's decision. He just hadn't wanted anyone else to realize just how much he valued Carter's opinion.

How much he was coming to value Carter.

Because, although they'd only been serving together for a matter of months, he'd never served with someone who had set him so completely on edge as she had. Of course, if Ferretti had dressed up in a blue silk dress and then later tried to jump his bones in the locker room, Jack would have been facing a whole different set of problems. But since it had been Carter. . . 

What was it they said about worms in cans?

A few days ago, even with the 'Gateroom in flames and a Goa'uld on the loose, Sam had brushed his abdomen with her fingertips and he'd had to force himself back to reality with a stupid joke. 

"Whoa." She'd whispered. "That's a miracle."

Damn if he hadn't flinched at her touch. He, who hadn't been ticklish since kindergarten. Hell if he hadn't wanted----needed----to feel the rest of her against his skin like that, just to see if his whole body would dissolve in sensation. He'd instantly felt weak, and foolish, and ashamed. So, he'd blurted out the first stupid thing to come to his head. 

"Crunches."

And there was no way he could have blamed his response on some pheromone-laden drug. By that time, fresh from the sarcophagus, he'd been purged of whatever influence Hathor had been wielding on him. So, the overwhelming urge he'd had right then to let her hand linger there, the desire he'd had to lean in to her touch, then lean down and taste her to see if she was really as addictive as he'd remembered her to be----well, all of that was welling up out of someplace within himself. 

Someplace that needed to be well and truly buried. 

So, to discover that Sam hadn't talked about any of this to Daniel----that she hadn't confided in her cohort about something so seemingly innocuous. That it was still a private thing between himself and Carter----

It meant something. 

Deciding exactly what it meant might be his undoing.

That ever-familiar voice intruded on his reverie. "Told me what, Jack?"

The Colonel straightened, bracing himself on the back of the chair with splayed palms. "Nothing. It's nothing. She's just proving herself to be an extremely valuable officer."

Daniel's look was decidedly speculative, his response overlong in coming. "Yes. She certainly is."

 

\-------OOOOOOOO-------

 

The ceremony had been short and simple. They'd held it in the 'Gateroom, even though only a smattering of people had been invited; SG-1, General Hammond, Dr. Frasier, and the other women who had taken part in retaking the SGC that day. Also present were the two young non-coms who'd been guarding the women when they'd made their escape, and a handful of other notable personnel. The General had made a small speech, and then he'd handed all five their commendations----Sam and Dr. Fraiser had received small medals accompanied by certificates, and the others were presented certificates along with a personal letter of thanks from the General. 

It was over nearly as soon as it had begun. Jack had stood on the ramp next to the podium, dressed in his official monkey suit, with what he'd hoped was an inscrutable expression on his face. He'd smiled when it had been appropriate, and clapped when it was warranted, not wanting to feel the swell of pride he felt as Sam's contributions of the day had been enumerated. He certainly hadn't noticed how fine she'd looked in her service dress, nor how that single lock of hair had escaped from behind her ear and bobbled at her cheek. 

Nor how that cheek had been tinged with color as the General had stopped near her and whispered a few words to her as he'd awarded her the commendation. She'd ducked her head, but her smile had been practically luminous all the same.

Not that Jack had noticed, of course. 

Afterwards, he'd lingered. Someone had ordered a cake for the occasion, and he'd eaten a piece while watching the others mingle. As soon as the party had broken up, he'd been on his way, swinging by his office before catching the elevator and heading up to the surface. He'd donned his service hat with as he'd stepped out into the evening air, hoofing it towards his truck with his long ground-eating strides. He'd arrived at her house just as the sun had disappeared behind the mountains, and the stars had started winking out through the dark of the night. Reaching across the center console, Jack had grabbed the package there, then made his way up her walk and onto her porch, where, noticing too late that she'd didn't have any furniture there, he ended up lowering himself to sit on her top step. 

Carter arrived around ten minutes later. He'd made sure to park on the other side of the street, so when she pulled up, her Volvo took its customary spot directly in front of her house. She wasn't expecting him----that was obvious from the way she drew up short upon seeing him on her steps, squinting a little into the dark as if assuring herself that he were really there. Her heels made dull clicks on the paving stones of her walkway as she made her way towards him, stopping at the foot of her steps and peering up at him.

"Sir?" She wasn't carrying a purse of any sort. Just a wallet and her keys in one hand, and the box carrying her medal and the commendation in the other. "What are you doing here?"

O'Neill held his hand out and, in the true nature of teammates who had developed a sort of unspoken communication, she climbed the stairs and handed him her stuff before turning and lowering herself to perch next to him on the step. She sat primly, tucking in her skirt around her legs----something he'd never seen her do before----an act which emphasized the fact that she was, in fact, a girl. 

As if he needed the reminder.

Because she smelled differently tonight, too. For the ceremony, she'd obviously put on some kind of perfume, or used a different kind of soap, or shampoo, or something. Damn, it was nice. Soft, but spicy. He could spend all night trying to figure out what it was, but that probably wouldn't be the best idea.

Storing that thought away, he deposited her things on the step next to him, then picked up the package he'd brought with him and reached over, laying it on her lap.

She merely stared at him, her eyes wide. "Sir?"

Jack leaned slightly forward, resting his arms on his knees. Glancing sideways at her, he tilted his head at the gift before looking up and capturing her gaze with his own. "Open it."

"What's in it?"

"Just a little something I picked up for you."

"Why?" Her face screwed up into a question. "Sir, I don't understand."

"Look, Carter. Just open it, will you?"

"But I don't understand why you're giving me a gift."

He straightened, rubbing his palms once or twice against the fine fabric of his slacks. "Let's just say I owe you one."

She frowned. "For what?"

"For the whole Hathor thing. You kept your head in the game and kicked some Goa'uld butt. Saved the day. Pulled a hero thing out of your a-----"

"I was just doing my job, Sir. And I had a ton of help."

"Still. you did a helluva job, Carter." Jack's tone had grown serious. "You definitely went above and beyond."

Sam raised a single shoulder in a semblance of a shrug. "I couldn't just sit back and let all you guys hand the world over to Hathor."

"Those were your orders." He tilted his head to one side, studying her. "The fact that you flagrantly defied them shows a great deal of growth and maturity. You didn't just wait obediently for the world to end. You assessed the situation, found your allies and then fixed the problem. It was----impressive."

There went those cheeks again, pinkening. The blush showed even in the late-evening dark even as she ducked her chin towards her chest. Her profile was perfect.

Not that Jack noticed. 

He looked away from her, out towards the street, to where the moonlight limned the light gray of her car into silver. It was safer to focus on the car. For one thing, he didn't care how it smelled. "Like I said, I was impressed."

He looked back at her to see that she was studying him, an odd little smile on her lips. The same moonlight that dulled the color of her car somehow heightened the shine in her eyes. It was something O'Neill had no idea how to interpret, and was pretty damned sure he shouldn't try.

Reaching out, he tapped the gift he'd given her, and Sam looked down at the package on her lap. It wasn't thick----only an inch and a half or so. Nor was it particularly large---around nine inches by twelve, and didn't weigh more than a pound. Her fingertips skimmed the paper----it was green, shiny, and sported snowflakes interspersed with reindeer. The reindeer were wearing sunglasses. 

"All I had was Christmas wrapping paper."

"No. Really?" Sarcasm----good natured, but still there. Her tone sounded a lot like----well, a lot like him.

Jack allowed a small smile. "I couldn't find a bow."

"Nothing left over from your Easter bonnet?"

"Ooh." He grinned fully, then. "You're becoming quite the smart-ass, now aren't you?"

"I'm learning from the best, Sir." She leaned towards him and nudged him with her shoulder. It was quickly becoming one of his favorite of her quirks. She didn't quite pull away from him, her body angled more towards him than before. Her grin was more intimate than it should have been. 

O'Neill didn't mind. 

She turned the package over in her hands, and found the seam on the back where he'd fastened the paper with tape. Sliding her finger into the opening, she separated the tape from the paper with an efficient "thwip", then turned the package 45 degrees and did the same thing to the end. Taking her time, she unfolded the paper that he'd meticulous mitered there, then loosened the wrapping as a whole and pulled the object inside to freedom.

"A picture frame?" She turned to look at him, hefting the wooden rectangle aloft.

"It's a shadow box." He reached out and tapped the glass front with his index finger. "See? It's got a little door here where you can put things that are more than two dimensional."

"What's it for?"

"Carter-----I thought you were the genius here."

She laid the shadow box on her lap and then lifted the front open. Inside was a board of sorts covered in velvet. Sam ran her fingertips along the soft surface. She didn't look at him as she spoke. "It's for my commendation medal, isn't it?"

"So you can display it."

She didn't speak for a moment, and Jack looked sideways at her just in time to see her grab her bottom lip between her teeth, suppressing one of her famous Carter smiles. 

"I just thought you might want a way to show off your award."

"Thank you, Sir." Balancing the box on her lap, she ran her thumbs along the smooth lines of the beveled glass. "This is----well----this is beyond thoughtful. I don't know what to say."

She looked over at him. Close, too close. Every move she made released a little more of whatever perfume she was wearing. Every time she fidgeted, it seemed to press her closer to his side. Their shoulders, with their matching navy-blue service jackets, seemed to merge into a single line, her warmth transmitting through the fabric towards him. The single curl that had defied her during the ceremony had again escaped its customary spot behind her ear, and now softly feathered against her cheek. 

His hand itched to smooth it back where it belonged. 

"Don't say anything." Jack had to clear his throat, and even so, the words came out too deeply. "You deserve it."

"Regardless, Sir." Sam placed both hands, palms down, on the frame. Possessively. When she looked back up at him, her eyes searched his for a long time before she spoke again. "Thank you."

Dangerous. This was dangerous. His entire body felt as if they'd been transported back to the SGC, standing near a burning sarcophagus, her fingertips tracing a gentle line along his soul. He tried to quell the shiver that surged through him, hoping to whatever heavenly entity that might give a damn about him that she couldn't feel it, too. 

Praying equally hard that she could.

Cursing himself for ten kinds of fool that he cared.

As if in answer, a car made its way down the street, its headlights casting weird elongated shadows across the yard. Jack and Sam sat in companionable silence, watching as the shadows compress and then fade as the car passed out of sight. 

"A neighbor?" O'Neill indicated the car with a nod. 

Carter glanced at him, and then back towards the street. "I guess. I don't know many of them."

"Hazards of our job." He knew. "Speaking of which, I'd better go."

"Don't you have the day off tomorrow?"

"Yeah." Jack blew out a sigh, then leaned forward and stood slowly. "I do. I thought I'd hit the road early, find a little stream or a lake somewhere and do some fishing."

"Fishing."

"Pole. Line. Bait." He turned, straightening his jacket. "Fishing."

"I've heard of it."

"Have you ever done it?"

Sam grinned. "Once. With my grandfather. I was little, and he took Mark and me to some little lake. I started skipping rocks or something, and he got frustrated. Apparently, that kind of thing scares the fish away."

"That, it does."

"I didn't know." She lifted the shadow box, balancing it on her knees, holding it steady with both hands on the top. "He thought I should have figured it out to begin with. Next time he took Mark, I didn't get invited."

"That kind of sucks."

She laughed. "I guess."

Jack shoved his hands into the pockets of his dress slacks. "Hey----about the frame."

Glancing downward, Carter looked at the shadow box before raising her gaze back up at the Colonel. "What about it?"

"Look inside it." He stood evenly, watching as she lowered it to her lap again, opening the little door and touching the velvet pad inside.

"What about it?"

"Behind that." 

Her brows furrowed as she fit a finger between the velvet panel and the side of the shadow box. With a tidy little flick, she lifted the pad free and removed it from the shadow box to reveal the prize beneath.

He couldn't help it. Couldn't help grinning as she looked at, and then puzzled at what she'd found. Couldn't help enjoying the expression of disbelief that played across her lovely face when she recognized what she held.

"How on earth did you get this?" She snagged the single page between her fingers and pulled it free. "It must be a screen-capture of the security video----right?"

"I have a few friends in the audio-visual department. They printed out the video frame for me." Jack hoped his shrug portrayed nonchalance. "It's a little grainy, but you get the idea."

"This is awesome."

"I hoped you'd feel that way."

The photograph was black and white, and not entirely in focus, but it clearly showed Sam at the exact moment that she'd whacked General Hammond across the back of his head. In the photo, her face was screwed up in concentration, and Hammond's expression was one of stunned shock----blurred a bit as he'd lurched forward and towards the concrete floor of the SGC. It was a perfect moment in time. One of the only priceless ones Jack had found as he'd waded through the crap-load of video he'd been saddled with reviewing. 

Carter looked it over---studying each facet of the photo as she let loose a slew of breathy little half-laughs. "This is seriously awesome."

"Not every officer can say that they've received a commendation for beating the crap out of their CO."

"True." She actually giggled, her features bright. "But now, thanks to you, I can not only say it, but I can also prove it." 

O'Neill allowed himself a moment to watch the play of joy across her face, then nodded, turning half-way towards the street. "Well, Captain. I'd better go."

"Oh--wait, Colonel." She dropped first the velvet page, and then the photograph, back into the shadow box. Carefully, she laid the frame on the wrapping paper she'd set on the step next to her. Rising, she descended the steps and practically jogged down the walk until she'd reached him. "Thanks again. So much."

He tried not to let it register how near she was. Shrug it off. Ignore it. "Well, like I said before. I owed you."

She reached out and touched his arm, fitting her hand around his wrist. Squeezing slightly, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his cheek. Chaste, innocent. Her touch shouldn't have affected him as it did, but still, O'Neill had to force his hands not to curl, force his head not to turn and change the touch into something less----pure. 

"Thanks again, Sir."

His throat had tightened. He nodded down at her, moving backwards until he'd stepped out of her touch. 

"Okay then." She offered a little wave. "Have fun fishing tomorrow."

"I will." His voice cracked, but he grunted a little and tried again. "You know, you ought to take another stab at it."

She rolled her eyes speculatively. "Maybe I will. Someday."

Jack took another stride backwards. "It can really be fun. In the right circumstances."

That smile. Luminous and honest. "With the right person?"

"Something like that."

"I'll think about it."

"Do." He was surprised at how much he meant it. 

For several long beats, she studied him. Then, as if surprised to find herself doing it, she shuffled backwards a little, her heels navigating the uneven pavers with the expertise of familiarity. "Well, I'll see you Monday, then."

"Monday." O'Neill shoved his hands into his pockets again, pivoting and taking the rest of the walk in just a few long strides. But when he got to the line of shrubs, he turned. "Hey, Carter."

She was at the foot of her steps, looking at him. "Yes, Sir?"

"About this whole 'paying back' thing."

He brows lowered even as her lips tilted upwards. "What about it?"

"Do you do the same thing with Daniel or Teal'c?" 

The night was quiet, still. He could almost hear her think, hear her heart beat quicken. His own pulse pounded in his ears. 

"Um, no, actually."

"Why not?"

She lifted a shoulder. A coy move that went along with how she'd captured her lip between her teeth. A habit that was as endearing as much as it was something rather more than endearing. "I don't know. Do you?"

"No." He shifted his weight on his feet. He needed to know, but resented his own need to ask the question again. "Why don't you?"

Her gaze captured his----steady. Direct. Unwavering. "I guess it just feels like something between us. Like our thing."

Our thing.

Jack nodded, pressing his lips together against any number of dangerous responses. 

"Sir?"

Our thing.

He lifted a hand in a casual wave. An action far more meaningless than he'd wanted. But anything would have been----unnatural. With a last look, a last breath, he turned around and headed for his truck. 

Our thing.

Only when he turned the key in the ignition did he allow himself to let that sink in. Let himself consider ramifications. Meanings. As he gunned the gas and pulled away from the curb, he allowed himself another look towards her house. She was standing on the step, leaning against the pillar on her porch, holding the frame he'd given her against her body. Watching him.

Our thing. 

He was nearly home before he ran a hand through his hair and grinned outright.

Our thing.

He could handle that.


End file.
